And Then? My Foot Got Barfed On.

My 20th high school reunion just happend. It was... meh.

No. I take that back. It was AWESOME to see some AWESOME friends that I hadn't seen in far too long. AWESOME to promise each other that we wouldn't wait another ten years before we got together again. But, the try-to-hide-in-a-corner-because-I-hate-chit-chat-and-worry-that-people-will-think-I'm-a-bitch-because-of-it sucked. As usual.

But, overall... so glad I went.

Friday night's event was just my high school's graduates (Monterey High School, Lubbock, Texas - GO PLAINSMEN!) at a cocktail party. Saturday's event was a combo reunion with the other two rival high schools in town, Coronado and Lubbock High. It was at a cool new rooftop bar in town. The reunion started at 7:00, but the bar wasn't closed to the public. So, about 10:00 the college kids started rolling in as college kids are wont to do at that time. (Do you remember when 10:00 made you think of heading to the bar, not jammies and the couch?!)

So. The college kids were there. One of my friends overheard one of them say, "I'm trying to get to the bar, but there are all of these old people in the way." Ouch.

But, I headed to the bathroom with a friend. While I was finishing up in my own personal stall I had the disquieting thought of, "Did my foot just get wet?" I looked down and saw... splatter... from the next stall had made its way into mine. And, then I heard it. The distinct sound of barf splashing down in the toilet next to me.

My foot got barfed on.

I ran out of the bathroom in horror (while stopping to wash my hands - I mean I'm not gross. Just because my foot had been dishonored didn't mean I had to sacrifice my hands as well), mumbling to my friend, "myfootjustgotbarfedonmyfootjustgotbarfedonmyfootjustgotbarfedon."

But, here's a couple of things I would like to say to the nameless college beauty that brought such honor to herself and hers last Saturday night. First of all: hit. the. toilet. Gross. And, secondly: Who barfs at 10:00 at night?! What is this? Amateur hour? At least we "old people" know how to hold our liquor!

So, that's it. That's my best anecdote from the reunion. If you didn't go to high school with me, stop here. If you did, or you're just really interested in watching other people's home movies, keep going for some of the pics.

Some of the AWESOME people who made it AWESOME
Friday Night

Mindy, Kelly and me
I went to school with Mindy from FIFTH grade through twelfth. Wow. That's a lifelong friend!
Kelly and I were pretty much tied at the hip during high school (with our other friend Lenna who rudely chose to have a baby a month ago and, therefore, couldn't make the reunion. Geez. Some people just don't think of ME when they are doing things. Do better next time, Lenna.) At one point Friday night, Kelly and I were sitting on a couch together and another friend walked by. She said, "You two. Sitting there. Together. It's like it's twenty years ago!" I love my BFF.

Jessica and Jennifer

Amy and Kelly. The Broome girls. No relation. (I have no idea why I think that's so funny...)

Mikey (you can't call a grown man Mikey. You have to call him Mike. Or Springer. He looks at you weird if you call him Mikey.) and Kim

Saturday Night

Jennifer, me and Cressinda

Um. This is exactly what it looks like. I wanted to have boobs as big as the other girls. Some things you just never grow out of. Or should I say, never grow...
This picture is the most representative of our behavior during the weekend.

And here we are acting respectable.
Cressinda, me, Jennifer and Jill

Jennifer, Kim, me and +1 (I mean, Ana!)

me, Jacki and Anna

Jessica's husband. He took my nametag from Friday night and wore it throughout Saturday's event. Then, he just waited for people to ask. His most common response: Sex Change.

THE GIRLS

The Lost Husbands Club

Very lost...

More proof of where I've been when I haven't been here:

A slide show from the Neil Simon play, Rumors that will run its last shows this Thursday through Sunday at the Amarillo Little Theater.

http://amarillolittletheater.com/gallery_rumors_ss.html

This community theater just keeps proving why they are nationally renowned!

But, um... One quick question about one of the pictures in the slideshow:

When did J.Lo's butt get attached to my body?

I'm choosing to believe there is an optical illusion happening with the
black dress, white sheers, light and camera angle. And, that it is not
really possible to balance a drink on my ass.

Return of the Prodigal Camera Cord: Part I

Herein begins a series of posts I shall call "Return of the Prodigal Camera Cord." It seems I have a genetic predisposition to a disorder that I inherited from my mother. Whereas hers is called I-Put-It-Someplace-"Safe," my strain is known as I-Put-It-"Away." Regardless of the strain, it culminates in something important being put somewhere, with vague memories of doing so, and no idea where that place might be.

And, it happened to my camera cord. It was always wadded up somewhere waiting for me to use it to download pictures and I thought it looked awful. There are so many cords around this house. So, I thought I would tackle the mess one cord at a time and put the camera cord "away." Oops.

It's a month and a half later and I just found it hidden behind the throw pillows on the living room chair in which no one sits. To my credit, that is very near to where I usually download pictures.

Anyway, I've killed the fatted calf and now I've got tons of material for blog posts! And, the people said, "Hallelujah!" (Say it!)

So. Let's get started, shall we?

I remember buying these earrings for Senior Prom in 1992.

I also remember thinking they were some of the most exquisite earrings I had ever seen. So beautiful. So sophisticated. And, they were, by far, the most expensive earrings I had ever owned. I think they cost $50.

And, I thought they went perfectly with my dress, too.

See the earrings? I could be mistaken, but I think I've even turned
my head to make sure they get their proper due in the photograph!

Yep. That's me in the top right. I also believed that dress to be sophisticated and glamorous. Not at all "mermaid," which is the overall impression I get when I look at it now.

And, today? How would one expect such treasured gems to be treated?

I'll tell you how. Like this:

My how the mighty have fallen.

Our Christmas Card 2011 Keepin' It Klassy

The story behind that picture?

We were getting "respectable" family pictures taken and in the middle of taking pictures in this pose Shawn said, "Hurry up. Spencer's tooting on Mama!"

Lulu looked over at him and said, "Ewwww! Stop tooting on Mama!"

*click*

As Anna, our cousin the photographer, was editing the session she sent us this one in an email because she thought it was so funny. Shawn and I agreed it was a pretty funny picture and that was that.

But, that night as we were getting ready for bed I said, "You know what would be a funny Christmas card? If the front said, 'This holiday season may you never have to wonder...' then open it up and it has that picture with the words..."

And, Shawn finished my sentence with, "Who cut the cheese?!"*

We knew it had to be.

I have to admit to just a few reservations as I dropped these bad boys in the mailbox. But, it turns out that the people on our Christmas card list are just as irreverent as we are. We got more comments on this Christmas card than we have ever gotten - and many thanks for the laugh.

If people were offended, at least they didn't say anything about it. I'm sure they've just quietly removed us from their list of friends...

*It should be noted that Spencer is certain that, because I'm laughing so hard in this picture, I must be the offending party.

Boy Wonder

We got Spence's Comanche project returned. Oh, I'm sorry. What's that you say? ONE. HUNDRED? Ka.pow!

And, here's that cover page I told you about.

Oh, stop. You're embarrassing us.

(But, yes. That is my facial masque smeared down the center of his part to simulate the white clay the Comanche would put down the center parts of their hair [or red or yellow - get out of my head Comanche report!] And, do you have any idea how long it takes to help an eight-year-old braid yarn braids down a piece of paper?)

But, Spence knew how hard he had worked on this project and he was proud of that grade. Shawn was out of town when the grades were returned, but we had to call him straight away to tell him the proud results!

Also in school, the 2nd grade wrote letters to Santa. Here's Spence's:

As Shawn paraphrased: "Hiiiiiii, Santaaaaaa... How you beeeeeeen? Goooooood? Gooooood. How's the faaaaaamily? We've got a little something special planned for you when you come on Christmas Eve... BRING ME A TRUCK!"

And, lastly, we had Spence's eight year old well-check with the pediatrician last week. (I-don't-want-to-talk-about-the-fact-that-he-turned-eight-two-months-ago-but-I-forgot-his-appointment-and-they-couldn't-reschedule-us-until-December-so-shut-up-about-it.)

Y'all? It might be weird to be extremely proud of your kid while you're at a check-up. But, I was extremely proud of Spencer at his check-up. I just sat back and let him handle all of her questions... and he did! Even though he was shy and a little timid (and our pediatrician was so kind and friendly, it was easy for him to talk to her), he did it! I didn't have to help "Mommy" him through any part of the exam. Now, I can already hear some of my friends (I'm looking at you, Springer) saying, "The kid's EIGHT YEARS OLD. He should have driven himself to the appointment." But, he's my kid. I want to take care of him. I want to make sure he's comfortable and at ease. But, the fact of the matter is: He is a big kid. He can take care of himself. And he doesn't need me quite as much as I may like to believe he does. I came home and said to Shawn no less than twenty times, "We have a big kid!"

And, speaking of big. She didn't have a growth chart to show me on which our giant man child would fit - for height or weight. But, she said you put them together and he has a BMI in the 95th percentile. She said that's big but it's healthy. Then she looked at me, turned to Spencer and said, "Your dad must be tall?" Rude. And, then, for the rest of the exam, she kept stopping and saying, "Eight years old?!" and "Second grade?!" over and over. And when she tested his strength (made him hold his arms up while she tried to push them down, etc), she got out of breath. So, now. When I call him our giant man child. I mean, our giant man child.

So that's the latest from the Spencer front. Somewhere around here we've had pictures with Santa. And, Lulu wrote a letter to Santa, too. Although, she doesn't have the schmoozing down quite as well as her brother...

Stay tuned. All that and more to come...

We let Spence Trick or Treat, too.

Since my last post was about Lulu's costume party, I believe I left some of you with the impression that Spencer was locked in his room for Halloween.

Fear not! I present to you, Officer Johnson.

 Shawn even got into the spirit at his office.

This is Shawn's half of our costume from the Halloween Party we attended.
I promise I'll show you those pictures as soon as I see them myself!

It seems the only lame one on Halloween was me! Shawn took the kids Trick or Treating around the neighborhood and I stayed home to hand out candy. But, we live on a cul-de-sac and none of the other houses in the "sac" had on their porch lights. And, in order to see our porch light, you have to be committed to coming down into the cul-de-sac. The dark houses didn't invite anyone in; therefore, no one saw our light; therefore, I gave away about ten pieces of the 300 pieces of candy that I bought. 

Sad candy that never got to fulfill its destiny.

Now the candy bucket and I are having a battle of wills every time I walk past it. I've come really close to saying, "I will not eat you!" out loud. Just one step closer to being the crazy lady who wears my underwear on the outside of my clothes.

Halloween Costumes... Halloween Treats... And, it wasn't even Halloween yet!

Today is Halloween, but our past four days have already been packed full of festivities.

There was this:

One of Lulu's classmates had a costume party at her house. Remember how our dancer-to-the-beat-of-her-own-drummer was a Donut last year? Well, this year?

A DANCING SKELETON!

When we got to the party, there was a face painter. All the other little girls had beautiful fairy eyes. And princess glitter. Some butterflies.

Lulu? "I want to be a skeleton face!"

She went from "Dancing Skeleton" to "Día de los Muertos!"

(Not a single one of you better give me a moment's grief about Día de los Muertos or I will sic Señora Cowden, the kids' Spanish teacher, on you to explain to you that it is a joyful day of celebration in many hispanic cultures wherein they remember all the loved ones who have passed before them.)

That said. Our beautiful, darling, baby girl... was horrifying.

And, it took two days to get all of the black off of her eyes. She went from Día de los Muertos to Courtney Love. Equally horrifying.

There was also this:

All of my children (including the 39-year-old one), needed treats today. Spence wanted the Mummy Oreos that Sister took to her class on Friday - as she was Snack Helper:

Found on Pinterest! I *heart* Pinterest.

Sister needed something different since, as I mentioned, she already treated her class to the Oreo Mummies. So, between Google, Shawn and me, we came up with these:

BONES!

They're just snipped marshmallows...

jammed on pretzel rods...

and dipped in white candy coating.

And, Shawn? He got to take both to the party that his office is hosting for the kids of the firm (because his little friends haven't seen either ;)!

And, finally. There will be this:

This afternoon. We get to go to Daddy's office party and Trick or Treating. After we get the flu vaccinations. That I scheduled. For today. After school. Because sometimes I don't have a lick of sense in my head.

P.S. We should all be glad the Oreo Mummies and Bones worked out. Because I had a Plan B. In a moment of frustration, when I wasn't sure I could master the Oreo Mummies, I tried to make a ghost.

It looked like this:

And, his eyes kept falling out.

Fortunately for everyone involved, it never came to this.

A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words

I've been installing the new update* on the iEverythings that belong to any family member that lives in the same town as I do. So, I've spent many hours staring at iTunes and iPhotos. And, I've found a few pictures for you.

That. And, I figure I owe you a few thousand words. So, I'm going to cheat and use some pictures to fill in a little of the deficit. ;)

Remember when I told you that Spencer's greatest football skill was his size?

God bless #14. It looks like Spence could eat him for a snack.

Lulu was sick a few weeks ago. I gave her The Throw-Up Bowl. (Every house has The Throw-Up Bowl, right?)

She wore it like a hat.

On the Halloween Front:

Spencer made this pumpkin at Cub Scouts:

Those are lots of metal things. Nailed into a pumpkin. Little. Boy. Heaven

One of Shawn's co-workers and his wife have had an annual pumpkin carving party for the kids of their friends and family for the past 24 years. It was at their barn. There were 200 pumpkins from which the kids could choose to carve. And donkeys. (The donkeys didn't have anything to with the party. They were just outside in a pen. But, our kids thought they were awesome.)

Such a brilliant idea for a wonderful, memory-filled, fun party.

And, that thing on the left side of Spencer's pumpkin? That's a scar. He's a tough pumpkin.

Shawn and I went back to the Old Hometown for our friends' annual Halloween Party this weekend. We were ghosts. Someone took pictures of us (because I remember wondering if ghosts would smile or not). I'll post them for your viewing pleasure as soon as I get them - that is assuming we show up on the film (because we were ghosts and all...).

Priscilla came up and spent the night with the kids while Shawn and I went down for the Halloween party. She needed a make-up visit. Since Spence is such a big kid now that he just has slumber parties instead of "party parties," she kinda got cheated out of one of her customary visits with the kids. But, they made up for lost time. There was Toys R Us and McDonalds involved in the 24 hours they were together!

Those are the highlights from around here. We're gearing up for a cooooooold front to come through here on Wednesday and Thursday. And, since I just blogged about the weather, I'm going to wrap up this post.

'Til next time.

*The new iPhone/iPad update?! So super cool! All these advances in Smart Phones and Tablets make me feel like a Jetson!

Some Follow-Up

It has come to my attention through reader comments (read that as "smart alec friends") that some of my recent posts need some follow-up.

First. About the Disaster Kit picture. You might be led to believe by the sparkly streamers at the left edge of the picture that you are looking at Lulu's bike. Or scooter.

Au contraire mon frere. That's my bike.

Shawn bought it for me a few years ago. I added the streamers and the basket liner. Best. Bike. Ever.

Next. As for the Mellow Song List. Don't judge me by my copious amounts of Barry Manilow. I bought the entire album (I think it was discounted a whole 99¢ or something). And, if you don't put Barry Manilow in your "Mellow" playlist, I don't know where you put him. (But, of course I'm not talking about "Copacabana" or "American Bandstand," that would be crazy. Oh wait. I've said too much.)

Also, when we were little, I was going to marry Andy Gibb and my sister was going to marry Barry Manilow (solely because these were the first cassette tapes we ever owned circa 1980 - Christmas gifts from our cool, teenage cousin Mark. And, if your teenage cousin gives you The BeeGees and Barry Manilow then they are cool, my friend. Oh, yes. They. are. cool.) Well, as you know, my dreams died with Andy. But, Brandy and Barry. There's still hope. And, I figure, when the time comes, I should be a good sister-in-law and have his music in heavy rotation on my iPod.

Furthermore. As to the length of the list. Many of you marveled that I typed out 138 songs. My question: How slowly do you people type?

And, finally. My darling Lulu. My friend Lin pointed out that I had forgotten a couple of her most classic quotes. The situation has been rectified in the original post. But, just so you don't miss them:

"The rest of you can change into your sporty clothes. We're going to stay in our Fashion Clothes."

"Mommy. I know what an old-fashion car is. It's a Fashion Car. That's old."

Smart. Confident. And Fashionable. She's a Triple Threat. 

My Ride's Been Pimped (I don't really even know what that means.)

So, I've made no secret of the fact that Shawn hated my old car. I'm not sure what he hated about it... the glovebox that wouldn't close; the overhead lights that were burned out; the volume button that would get stuck while increasing the volume (that was pleasant); the cigarette lighter that hung out of the dashboard by the wires; the exterior that had a ding in every. single. panel (one of which was on the trim that surrounded the driver window like someone had tried to break in with a crowbar - FYI, you can't fix that without replacing the door panel); the three-foot key scratch that someone gave it while it sat in the driveway last Halloween (I wish I knew who that was... I'd take back their candy); the scratched bumper where I misjudged the side of the garage (I don't want to talk about that anymore). And, I know having a DVD player in the car is a luxury, but notsomuch when it has the same VeggieTale movie stuck in it for six months. Or maybe he just hated the layer of goldfish/cheerios crust that the kids had cemented into the interior over the past five and a half years. I mean, seriously. What's not to love?

Shawn tried to show me other people's pretty new cars. But, ehhhh. Whatever. Mine still "worked."

Then.

Finally. He thought of it. The convincing argument. He drives two-hours down the road. A lot. And, his ginormous SUV gets terrible gas mileage. And, he couldn't drive mine comfortably.

So. I let him buy me a new car.

I know. I give and give.

Blah, blah, blah... All the different options. Blah, blah, blah... I got a Buick Enclave. It is beautiful. I will let my children die of starvation and dehydration before I let them eat or drink in it.

Also?

I got an OnStar app. It will unlock my doors for me. from. my. phone. I will never have to climb through my own sunroof again! But, even better? It will start the car for me. From anywhere. I have to be honest. I took the kids to run errands just so I could remote start the car from inside the stores. It's like I'm freakin' Knight Rider!

The one problem?

I can't say "Buick" without making a barfing noise. Like this*:

I'm pretty classy like that.

*Things that occurred to me as I made this video clip:

1) One should not wear a strapless shirt while filming footage of oneself if one does not want to appear naked.

2) I may have gotten a little carried away with my editing abilities on Mac iMovie.

3) I make some really weird faces while pretending to barf. This is terrifyingly obvious when viewed frame by frame. Please don't view this frame by frame.

In 1692 Salem, She'd be Considered a Witch

Do you remember when Lulu grew this thing? It was a giant seedling that seemed to have been fertilized with nuclear waste.

Well, for Mother's Day she brought home a cup of dirt. Supposedly, it had a seed in it that would grow into my Mother's Day flower.

Cute idea.

But, I was skeptical.

Y'all? It grew into this:

Again. A quarter for size reference. Why?
Say it with me: Because I'm all scientific like that...

And, this "plant" is still alive to this day.

Her green thumb is kinda freaking me out.

Truth in Advertising

I got an email about an end-of-season swimsuit sale. It included this little gem:

Um? Really? I don't think it's this girl's swim top that's doing the enhancing. I think it's her plastic surgeon.

(And, to all my heterosexual male readers out there: You're welcome.)

Ways I Know Spence Had Fun at Camp

He went totally rogue with his clothes. I packed shorts rolled with the shirts that matched.

By the fourth day, he was wearing this:

Stripes and plaids? You have to have
a certain je ne sais quoi to pull that off.

And, when we picked him up, he was wearing this:

What? There's red and blue in the
shorts. It ties it all together.

He participated in the End-of-Camp Rodeo.

He rode a horse out to the middle of the arena...

...and stole a ribbon from what had to have been...

...the most disturbing Rodeo Clowns I have. ever. seen.

God bless the college boys that will dress like this just so little
kids can have some fun. (But, there's a small chance they have
ruined any future they had in politics. "Cross-dressing Clown"
might be a campaign manager's worst nightmare...)

On the drive home, he asked if he could go back to camp again... this summer.

He slept almost 11 hours his first night home.

He brought home half a ranch worth of dirt in his duffle bag.

It doesn't appear that any of his soap or shampoo was used.

And, mainly? Because when we got there, we were greeted with this dirty-faced smile!